


time with you is standing still

by ProfessorSpork



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Breathplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Consent, F/F, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Exploration, Near Death Experiences, Safe Sane and Consensual, Teen Romance, Veronica is the Tenderest Top and the Kinkiest Bottom i'm sorry i don't make the rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorSpork/pseuds/ProfessorSpork
Summary: Betty is tired of feeling out of control, and Veronica is so sick of having to put on a brave face.Somehow, they help each other find relief.[Or: the “fragile teens try breathplay to cope with their issues instead of seeking the counsel of a qualified mental health professional” fic this fandom deserves. Fluffier than it sounds because I literally don’t know any other way to be.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ratherembarrassing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherembarrassing/gifts).



> Title from "Breathless" by the Corrs because, y'know, I like being on the nose but not THAT on the nose. Nose-adjacent.
> 
> beta'd by the incomparable @falsealarm
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASHLEIGH. I hope it's everything you dreamed of and more.

Betty Cooper probably isn’t a good person.

Or maybe that’s not fair. She wants to be—she _tries_ to be—but it still feels like… like at least some parts of her aren’t. Sometimes Betty feels hijacked, like she’s doing everything she can to hold it all together and somehow there’s someone else inside her calling the shots.

_(“Betty couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”)_

That person—whoever she is—she’s… well. Betty’d like to think that’s not her, is all. Deep down.

_(“I could expose him in the pages of the Blue and Gold! Yeah, I can do that!”_

_“No. Spoken like a true good girl who always follows the rules.”)_

But Betty is also pretty sure true good girls don’t fantasize about choking people.

To be honest, until recently she’d thought it was _normal._ You hear it all the time, don’t you? People complaining, saying they got so annoyed they just wanted to strangle someone. That’s—it’s a thing people say. So when she would fantasize about taking Cheryl Blossom by the neck and finally, finally shutting her up, about grabbing Archie and _making him_ see her, well…

Maybe it wasn’t a thing good girls did, but even good girls have bad thoughts sometimes, right?

But at least with them, she’d felt mad. Frustrated. Betrayed.

Veronica’s not like that. God, even when Betty’d been mad at her, she’s never felt anything but safe and seen when she’s with Veronica.

So Betty has no excuse for the way her eyes always catch on the string of pearls that hangs delicately from Veronica’s throat, the way she thinks about tangling her fingers in that necklace and _pulling,_ just enough, just until Veronica gasps, just until the pearls leave bulleted bruises across Veronica’s soft skin, a dark ellipsis trailing off to… to…

“Earth to Betty—you still with me?”

Betty blinks hard, and focuses to find Veronica beaming at her. Oh, god. “Sorry, I just… tuned out I guess. What were you saying?”

It’s getting ridiculous.

* * *

Two truths and a lie:

Betty didn’t get any sleep after that night at Ethel’s hot tub. Instead, she stayed up until dawn writing her expose for the Blue and Gold. She doesn’t remember what happened.

…trick question. Two of those aren’t true. Or at least, not completely.

She’d finished the article around 4 AM, only to find that flashes of what they’d done—the cuffs, the heels, crushing pills into a decanter and the smell of chlorine in the air—wouldn’t get out from behind her eyelids, the inside of her nose, under her skin.

It scares her, a little. Not what she did to Chuck—she still thinks he deserved it—but Veronica’s face while she did it. That combination of intimidation and wanting at seeing Betty be dangerous, at seeing Betty take charge.

It scares her how desperate she is to see that look again.

It scares her how easy it is to imagine Veronica agreeing to it. Maybe even asking for it.

And for so many reasons, too. Because Ronnie trusts her; because she still feels guilty about those seven minutes in heaven with Archie; because Betty’s not _blind,_ she sees the way Veronica looks at her, even on a normal day. Not hungry. Just… aching.

Betty could fix that.

So she lets herself imagine it. The two of them, safe at the Pembrooke, away from her mother’s prying, laid out on Veronica’s bed. She’d start by throwing Veronica’s words right back at her— _“Don’t freak out. Just trust me.”_

When Veronica had pulled her in for that kiss, she’d been so, so gentle, tender fingertips brushing softly against skin.

Betty would be gentle, too. In her own way.

It would be one hand buried in Ronnie’s dark hair, the other slipped carefully, skillfully over her mouth, the edge of Betty’s pinky flush against her nostrils.  In the dark, she sees Veronica sinking into it. Holding eye contact, staying with Betty even as her gaze gets glassy, and distant, and Betty’s whole world shrinks down to the air in Veronica’s lungs—the air she allows. There’s nothing but the count, nothing but the heavy weight, the squeeze, the sympathy pressure building in Betty’s own chest as Veronica goes limp and soft under her hands.

She can practically _feel_ it, the hammer of Veronica’s pulse at her neck, the pucker of her slowly paling lips against the still-healing scabs on Betty’s palm. Veronica, still only until she’s not, until her body won’t let her anymore and she starts pulling, a little and then a lot, at Betty’s wrist.

When Betty lets up she’d gasp like a woman drowning, only—that’s—Jason, and Chuck, and _Polly_ , and—

_(“This is what guys like Jason and Chuck think about women. We’re objects for them to abuse.”)_

She wonders how many points it would be in the playbook. Veronica’s life in her hands.

She doesn’t think that’s something good girls wonder.

(So yes. She sees the way Veronica looks at her. And so she keeps herself as distant as she can stand, because if Veronica gets too close… she’s honestly not sure what she would do.)

* * *

Veronica holds her breath when she’s upset.

Betty doesn’t mean to notice it, doesn’t _want_ to notice it, but she does. She’s just so tuned into Veronica’s frequency, all of the time—she can’t help it.

At first Betty’d thought it was just a subconscious little tic; something Ronnie does when she’s being handed back an important test, or trying to master a new move during cheer practice. But no, it’s more than that—Veronica inhales deep and freezes every time things between Jughead and Archie get weirdly tense, every time she hears someone mention her father, every time she thinks her mom is lying to her, every time Cheryl Blossom passes her in the halls looking lost and haunted. Like she could disappear, if only she tried hard enough. If only she could hold it in.

Betty doesn’t want Veronica to disappear.

She wants to hold her breath for her.

Wouldn’t that be a relief?

* * *

It’s so stupid, how quickly things fall apart. Or come together.

And terrifying, how fragile they are.

* * *

It goes like this:

Long before maple sap sweetened the waters of Sweetwater River—like, Cretaceous Period long before—all of Riverdale had been under shallow, warm prehistoric ocean. Thanks to the wonders of erosion, evidence of that ancient past wash up on the river all the time; you can pan for fossils there like gold. Betty’s been taking school field trips to the banks of the Sweetwater for that purpose as long as she can remember. Apparently, not even Jason’s death could halt the tradition.

Veronica knows all of this already, they’ve been learning about it in class for weeks, but it doesn’t stop Betty from telling her about it all over again on the bus ride over. She describes the kinds of fossils there—shellfish and oysters, shark teeth, the very occasional arrowhead, and her personal favorites, the amber-colored, bullet shaped belemnite guards—and Veronica listens to every word with the softest smile on her face, like she could listen to Betty talk for hours.

(It’s funny. Betty forgets, sometimes, how new this friendship is. It feels just as permanent and intrinsic to her as the petrified relics in the riverbed do to this town.)

Veronica, being Veronica, has bought an entirely new outfit for the excursion. Betty didn’t even know they _made_ thigh-high rain boots, but trust Veronica to have found them. Compared to the rest of the kids on the bus, wearing old hand-me-downs they don’t mind getting dirty, wellingtons and waders, she looks like a cut-out from Vogue someone has pasted into an LL Bean catalogue from 1994.

“What are you smiling at?” Veronica asks as she catches the way Betty’s eyes have been dancing over her. (Veronica always notices when someone is paying her attention.)

“Nothing. You started it.”

(And it’s _nice,_ this kind of wanting, it’s normal and it’s sweet, and Betty wishes she could fill herself up with it, until it crowded out the rest.)

The bus pulls up before Veronica can decide on a reply.

Betty doesn’t mean for them to get separated, but when Jughead pulls her aside while the park ranger is giving them the usual safety speech and explains in low tones that now is their chance to properly investigate the riverbed for more clues about Jason’s disappearance, she can’t disagree.

Which is why, an hour and a half into their field trip, she hadn’t realized anything was amiss until Cheryl starts screaming.

Betty turns around to find a small group of their friends on the other side of the river shallows—Archie, soaking wet and sputtering, clearly having just been dunked; Reggie, doubled over with laughter; Cheryl, screaming, staring at Archie like she’s seen a ghost and, being fair, she probably feels like she has; and—Veronica, caught in the middle, yelling at Reggie like he gives a crap what she thinks.

They’re too far away to catch everything. Over the general din, Betty can hear Veronica say “What is _wrong_ with you?” and Archie’s outraged, “It’s not funny, man! You made Cheryl cry!”

Reggie says something in his own defense, which Betty can’t make out, but it must have been pretty nasty because all of a sudden Archie’s swinging at him.

“Boys!” Veronica barks, jumping between them, like all five feet and one inch of her could actually do anything to stop the two football players from going at each other. It’s kind of cute, if Betty’s being honest.

Betty looks upriver, towards the bus. They’ve drifted way further away than she realized—there’s no way any of their chaperones could intervene in time, and she can’t even see the park ranger. Looks like they’re on their own.

Jughead catches her eye, and with a nod, they start jogging over. Cheryl’s still sobbing, and Archie and Reggie are now trading blows in earnest, half-wrestling each other in the muddy water. And Veronica—

Veronica’s—

Betty can’t see Veronica.

There’s a roaring in her ears as Betty sluggishly does the math, slow to put things together—like her brain is trying to protect her from the truth. Archie and Reggie are all hands, slip-sliding in the water, pushing, pulling, and _there—_ a flash of pearls under the surface—

“Get off her,” Betty croaks, but it’s quiet, distant, barely audible. She feels trapped in a nightmare. “Get off— _Archie, let her up!_ ”

Finally, her words must register, because Archie shoves Reggie back ( _“Jesus, Reg, we’re killing her!”_ ) and pulls Ronnie out of the water ( _“I—I don’t think she’s breathing…”_ ) and Betty finally stumbles up to them as he’s gotten her dragged up onto the bank, a limp, lifeless thing.

Betty’s heart stops.

And suddenly everyone’s looking to her, like she’s supposed to know what to do, but she doesn’t, she caused this, this is all her fault, she—

 _“Move,”_ Jughead says, shouldering past her and dropping to his knees to give Ronnie mouth-to-mouth. And suddenly they’re thirteen again, taking CPR classes at the Y; he, because his parents were leaving him alone with Jellybean more and more, and the responsibility scared him; she, because Betty knew getting certified meant she could charge more per hour when she babysat. The sense memory is visceral, the fresh smells of the lake warping into the musty scent of the back room of the Y, lanky Jughead poised over a mannequin, only that’s not a practice dummy, it’s _Veronica._

(You’re supposed to sing _Another One Bites the Dust_ in your head when you do chest compressions, to keep the count. Betty’s never appreciated until this moment how truly twisted that is.)

She can’t move. She can’t think. It should be her, getting her knees muddy on the river’s edge, it should be her, counting and breathing and counting and counting but she can’t be trusted, she can’t—she’d _wanted_ this—and now Jughead’s lips are smeared red with Veronica’s lipstick, only Veronica’s lips are pale and tinged blue and Betty thinks of the moments she’d dreamed of Veronica looking like that and she’s _vile,_ she’s _toxic,_ she’s going to be sick, she—

She’s literally going to be sick.

She barely makes it to the bushes in time.

There’s a hand rubbing her back, she thinks, and someone—Archie?—is murmuring at her gently as she empties her stomach, but all she can hear is the _three-and-four-and-five_ as Jughead counts his compressions, and somewhere, far away, Cheryl is crying— _“All this river does is take.”_

“It’s okay. It’s alright, Betts. She’s gonna be fine, you’ll see, you just gotta—Betty, it’s okay. Let it out. Breathe.”

She can’t. Not until Veronica can.

Another wave of nausea crashes through her at the thought. She’s never felt particularly religious—the crucifix her mother wears always seemed so performative—but she finds herself praying now, bargaining to anyone who will listen. Anything, she’ll do _anything,_ she’s so fucking sorry and she’ll never go near her, she’ll never even _think_ of Veronica again if it means saving her now.

She loses the thread of what’s going on around her for a minute, gagging and panicking and choking on her own self-loathing, but tunes back in with a shock when she realizes she can’t hear the counting anymore—instead, all she hears are ambulance sirens. Which means—it means—

“Betty,” Jughead says, and—why is Jughead here with her, Jughead can’t leave Ronnie, he can’t—“she’s asking for you.”

Betty _sprints._

The reality of Veronica surrounded by EMTs threatens to pull Betty up short, but somehow through the crowd Veronica catches sight of her, and—well. Betty’s not blind. She can see the way Veronica’s shoulders go slack with relief at the sight of her, and her feet are carrying her to Ronnie’s side on autopilot before Veronica can even open her mouth, rasping out _“Betty"_  in a terrible, waterlogged tone.

Betty pushes past the ambulance crew and clings to Veronica, pressing their foreheads together and squeezing her eyes shut to keep from crying. “God, Ronnie, you scared me; you can’t—you can’t _do_ that—”

“Sorry,” Veronica says, which—it’s not like it’s _her_ fault—but she’s leaning up and into Betty, pressing their faces even closer together. Like only the air from Betty’s lungs is worth breathing.

It’s all coming out now and Betty can’t stop it, the truth tumbling out of her along with all of her fears. “I thought I’d lost you, I thought you’d—you were—please, _please_ Ronnie, I can’t—you were _gone—_ ”

“I wasn’t. I’d never,” Veronica promises, pushing impossibly closer still. Their noses brush, once, again, and—Veronica is trying to kiss her. In front of their friends and the EMTs and—

Betty rears back.

“Ohmygod, don’t, I just threw up—”

“Seriously? I almost died, I think I can handle it,” Veronica grumbles, but she obediently settles back down, away from Betty, and—well, no, that’s not what Betty wanted—

Betty leans down and gives Veronica the swiftest of pecks on the lips, just to make the point. “There. Happy now?”

A slow-growing smile overtakes Veronica’s face, like a sunrise. “Yeah,” she breathes, beaming, and Betty—despite everything—believes it. She’s never seen Veronica look so thrilled.

She doesn’t know what to do with that.

(They hold hands for the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and if Veronica squeezes so hard her fingernails bite crescents into Betty’s skin, well, it’s nothing she doesn’t deserve. And she’s used to it, anyhow.)

* * *

Veronica seems fine until her mother rushes into the ER, screaming for her and threatening to sue the Mantles, the school, the hospital, and—Betty has to stifle an inappropriate giggle—the very river itself.

“Over here, Mrs. Lodge.”

Hermione scrambles over, reaching for her daughter, and Veronica’s face absolutely crumples at her mother’s soothing attentions. “ _Mami,_ ” she whimpers, falling into Hermione as she cries. “I couldn’t breathe. They wouldn’t let me breathe.”

Dimly, as though from far away, Betty can hear Hermione ask “How did this happen? Why wasn’t anyone watching you?” but it’s a little hard to make out over her own brain screaming _monster, monster, monster._

Fingers thread into hers. “Betty was watching me,” Veronica says, like it’s obvious.

Betty has no idea how she did the math on that, because she wasn’t there when Veronica was pulled under and it was Jughead who actually saved her, but—

—but she _was_ watching. She can say that, at least.

Veronica and Hermione talk a little more, and at some point a doctor comes in, and there’s a near constant buzz now at Betty’s hip as her phone blows up with texts, but it barely registers for Betty. Because Veronica’s hand is still cold, and sometimes it shakes, and it’s Betty’s job to hold it for her.

But apparently while Betty’s capacity to ignore her phone is endless, Veronica’s is not. It’s hardly another half hour before Ronnie finally cracks and says “Okay, girl, are you going to answer that? Because if you don’t I will,” and before Betty knows it she’s being driven home by Smithers because the Lodges didn’t want her to get in trouble with her mom. Which is silly, really, because she clearly already is.

Her mom immediately confiscates her phone, grounds her, tells her on no uncertain terms that she’s never allowed to go on a field trip again, that she’s lucky it didn’t happen to her and that she can’t afford to be so careless.

But it’s not like anything had happened to _Betty._ It never would have. The river doesn’t go after Coopers.

Only the people they love.

* * *

The next day at school is absolute torture. Betty doesn’t have her phone, and Veronica’s not there, and while Betty _knows_ the logical conclusion here is that her mom kept her home, that obviously Veronica is fine and just wanted to take an extra day to rest, somehow she can’t bring herself to believe it.

All she sees is Veronica, still and cold on that river bank.

(Cheryl Blossom, of all people, keeps shooting Betty these concerned, understanding looks, like she knows exactly what Betty’s going through. The idea that maybe she _does_ is what sends Betty finally spiraling into a full-on panic attack.)

* * *

Anyway, Betty’s managed to half convince herself that she’s never going to see Veronica again by the time she goes back to school the day after, so she’s completely unprepared for the way Veronica catches her by the wrist on the front steps, pulling her aside with a “Hey, do you have a sec?”

“Sure, Ronnie, what’s…?”

She loses her train of thought.

Sometimes Betty almost forgets—or at least can mostly tune out the fact—that Veronica is the most stunningly beautiful human she’s ever seen in person. Because yes, she’s gorgeous, but she’s also just… she’s just Ronnie, and she’s witty and goofy and somehow both incredibly compassionate and hilariously self-centered sometimes, and she’s Betty’s best friend, and isn’t that enough?

And then other times—times like now, for instance—the sun hits Veronica just right, done up in her heirloom pearls and her honest-to-god Kate Spade dress just because it’s Tuesday, or something, and she’s so mind-numbingly _pretty_ Betty forgets how to talk.

She manages to snap out of it just in time to hear: “Where have you been? I tried texting you. It’s not like you to ghost me when I’m convalescing.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry. My mom took my phone. Trust me, I’ve been going crazy not talking to you.”

Unexpectedly, Veronica blushes. “You don’t think she’d, like. Read…?”

“What? Oh, no. She locks it in her desk drawer while I watch, it’s all very Daphne Du Maurier. Why?”

“Right… right.” Veronica mumbles to herself, which isn’t an answer. Of all the things Betty thinks she might say next, probably the last one is, “Have you brushed your teeth?”

“I—yes?” Before she can ask why it matters, Veronica’s mouth is on hers, and her whole world tilts on its axis. Betty tilts with it, swaying unevenly on her feet as everything that isn’t kissing Veronica, and being kissed by her, falls away.

It’s not like she’s forgotten how good it felt—if she’s thought about their cheerleading tryout once, she’s thought of it a thousand times. But that kiss always seemed so distant, a thing apart from her actual relationship with Veronica. She’d put it in a box, cordoned it off from everything else.

She’s suddenly getting the impression that maybe Veronica never did.

Adjectives run through her head on double time, trying to process every shift in pressure, every change in angle, every feeling— _gentle thorough heated tender sensual dreamy soft_ —and Betty doesn’t think there’s enough diary pages in the world to describe what it’s like to be the sole recipient of one hundred percent of Veronica Lodge’s attention, her lips supple and undemanding against Betty’s own. Like they have all the time in the world, and nothing better to do than get this right.

When Veronica pulls away, it’s with a satisfyingly audible _smack._

“Okay?” Veronica asks, like they’ve just made a promise.

Whatever it is, Betty will keep it. “Okay.”

It isn’t until she gets to her locker and Kevin face journeys at her for about thirty seconds straight that she realizes that she’s covered in Veronica’s lipstick. _Again._

* * *

(Eventually, her mom gives Betty her phone back. She’s greeted by about two dozen texts from Veronica about how much Veronica had wanted to kiss her before, how badly Veronica can’t wait to kiss her again, and all the ways Veronica is planning on kissing her in the future.

She’s never been more grateful for the lock on her mother’s desk drawer in her life.)

* * *

To the untrained eye, Veronica barely seems fazed by her brush with death.

She thanks Jughead extravagantly with a catered lunch on the quad, forgives Archie with a well-phrased backhanded compliment, freezes out Reggie so hard she could medal in it in the Olympics, stays on top of her schoolwork, and kisses Betty, and kisses Betty…

To the untrained eye, she’s the same old Veronica.

…But Betty’s is not an untrained eye.

Betty watches with concern as day by day Veronica’s skin gets paler and the dark circles under her eyes grow. As she jumps at things she never used to, skittish and unsure. And maybe it’s just Betty’s imagination, but she could swear Veronica’s cheer practice shirt is looser on her than it used to be.

Only then, Veronica will catch sight of her, and she just… lights up. Every time. It’s addictive, the way Ronnie looks at her, like there’s no one else on earth that makes her quite so happy.

So Betty waits, and watches, and kisses Veronica, and kisses Veronica. And if she never lets her hands wander higher than Veronica’s waist, well… it’s safer that way, that’s all. She’s taking it slow.

* * *

It comes to a head when Betty realizes, ten minutes before the start of yet another Friday night football game, that Veronica is nowhere to be found.

Betty beats down her instant panic _(Veronica’s—Betty can’t see Veronica—)_ and scans the crowd closely. Archie and Cheryl are on the field—no Veronica. Kevin appears to be forcibly removing the flannel shirt tied around Jughead’s waist while Jughead tries to squirm away from him without causing a scene—no Veronica. Hermione is sitting next to Mr. Andrews on the bleachers— _definitely_ no Veronica. The Pussycats have a gig two towns over tonight, which only leaves…

Betty walks right off the field, ignoring Tina and Ginger as they call after her, asking her where the hell she thinks she’s going.

The locker room is empty, now, except for Veronica: sitting on a bench, staring down at her shaking hands. Holding her breath.

Betty swears she feels her heart break.

She doesn’t say anything. She just slides down next to Veronica so their bodies are completely flush: hip to hip, thigh to thigh, knee to knee. A solid line of presence, of warmth. She slips her hand into Veronica’s and entwines their fingers, and feels her own lips pull up into a smile against her will when Veronica lays her head on her shoulder without prompting.

It’s a few moments before Veronica breaks the silence, taking a shuddering breath. “I just,” she says after a second, sounding near tears. “I’m so  _tired,_ Betts.”

On instinct Betty turns, pressing a light kiss to Veronica’s temple. She lets her mouth linger there, brushing against Veronica’s hairline. “You’re not sleeping,” she murmurs, intending for it to be a question but failing to make it come out like one. Veronica shakes her head _no_ , which mostly results in her burrowing her face deeper into the crook of Betty’s neck. “Oh, Ronnie…”

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

“I passed Reggie on my way out to the field and I just… it’s not _fair_. Every time I close my eyes, it’s like I’m back there, and they’re holding me down, and I can’t—I can’t _breathe—_ ”

Guilt creeps through her veins like ice, freezing Betty to the spot. She pushes it down, instead reaching to run the fingers of her free hand through Veronica’s hair, cooing at her gently. “I know. I know.”

It’s hard, it’s _so_ hard, sitting there and letting Veronica cry, but… it’s not the hardest thing. Not by a long shot. If she’s crying, she’s breathing. If she’s crying, she’s _here._

“God. How many breakdowns can one locker room take, huh?” Veronica jokes weakly, sniffling as she pulls herself together.

Betty bites her lip. “Listen. Do you want to just… get out of here?”

Veronica pulls away, gasping in mock-offense. “And leave Cheryl’s pyramid baseless and Archiekins un-cheered? I’m not a _monster._ ”

“Veronica, I’m serious.”

“So am I. I just… needed a second. But I’m fine, okay?”

Betty lets Veronica pull her up, pretending to be fooled by the brave face Veronica’s put on. “Okay. But after the game we’re going back to your place, and we’re going to spend the weekend watching old movies and eating junk food in your bed. Deal?”

“Doesn’t your mom still have you on probation or whatever?” Veronica asks, swiping at her cheeks. You’d never know anything was wrong, looking at her now.

“It’s called being grounded, Ronnie.”

“I just—don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Betty leans in, kissing Veronica as sweetly as she knows how. “You are worth a little sturm und drang from Alice Cooper.”

Veronica laughs. “Well, danke, liebchen _._ ”

* * *

Somehow, they make it through the game and back to the Pembrooke, crawling into Veronica’s bed and cuddling close. Of course, Veronica then lasts all of seven minutes into _Rear Window_ before nodding off, her head pillowed on Betty’s chest.

Betty tries to stay interested in Jimmy Stewart’s paranoid sleuthing, but it’s hard when she’s got Veronica half on top of her, radiating sleepy warmth. Betty delicately traces her fingertips up and down Veronica’s arm where it’s draped over her waist, watching, mesmerized, as goose bumps rise in the wake of her touch. Seeing Veronica’s body react to her automatically is…

The sound of footsteps in the hallway derail her thoughts before they can go anywhere too dangerous.

“Hey girls, if you’re hungry I thought—”

Betty raises a finger to her lips as Hermione enters the room, jerking her chin down to show Veronica slumbering in her arms.

Hermione rolls her eyes, then comes over and brushes Veronica’s hair back behind her ear. To Betty’s surprise, she then does the same to Betty, fingers feather light on her forehead.

“Are you staying the night?” Hermione asks, voice soft. Like it doesn’t matter what the answer is, like Betty’s welcome whenever.

“I—if that’s okay?”

Hermione curls a lock of Veronica’s hair around her finger fondly. “Well, I think I know what this one’s vote is. I’ve got the early shift tomorrow at Pop’s—have Smithers drive you over and I’ll get you girls some pancakes, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Hermione smiles. Betty’s pretty sure she’s just trying to look non-threatening, but it’s working. “You’re a good egg, Elizabeth Cooper. Sleep tight.” As she’s halfway out the door, Hermione waves at Ronnie’s general position. “Don’t let her barnacle onto you too long or she’ll never let go again.”

(Sounds like heaven to Betty.)

* * *

Betty thinks she must doze off herself, a little bit, but she finds herself coming around when Veronica shifts against her, waking up with a satisfied little hum. “I can hear your heartbeat,” Veronica mumbles happily, eyes still closed.

“Go back to sleep, Ronnie, you’re exhausted.”

“Nah, m’awake now. Did I miss Grace Kelly on the fire escape?”

“I think we both did. I can go back, if you want?”

“No; this is more fun,” Veronica says, and before Betty can ask _What is?_ Veronica’s hand has slipped up under her shirt. She pauses there, fingers splayed against Betty’s stomach, and her eyes are wide and earnest when she adds, “if that’s okay?”

Betty kisses her in response.

It’s childish, but the best word Betty can think of for how she feels is _nice._ She loses all sense of herself as Veronica yields under her, soft lips and a clever tongue, her hand passing soothingly up and down Betty’s flank.

They’ve never done this horizontally before.

It’s intoxicating.

Veronica sits up, propping herself up on her elbow to get a better angle, and all of a sudden Betty’s on her back with very little idea of how she got there. There’s nothing in her world except the way Veronica tastes, the slide of their legs together under the covers, the hand reaching back and pulling Betty’s hair out of its ponytail. Betty moans at the sensation, the tendrils of a tension headache she hadn’t even realized had been taking root dispelling immediately as Veronica runs her fingers through her hair.

The fingers on Veronica’s other hand, however, are lingering anxiously at the edge of Betty’s bra.

“Can I…?”

“ _Touch me,_ ” Betty pants, beside herself with the need for it, and Veronica doesn’t have to be told twice.

_Jesus Christ._

Betty swears she can feel Veronica _smirking_ into their kiss at the noise she makes when Veronica palms her chest. She’s barely even done anything yet—she’s only gently cupping Betty’s left breast, like she’s testing the weight of it, deciding how she wants to proceed—and Betty’s falling apart.

She doesn’t _mean_ to move her hips. But suddenly, Veronica’s not smirking anymore. They’re hopelessly tangled in the sheets now as they kiss, caught up in each other’s frenetic movements, feverish, frenzied. “You are so, so beautiful,” she hears Veronica murmur, awe in her tone, and it takes a minute for it to sink in that Veronica’s talking about _her._

“I—Ronnie—”

Belatedly, Betty recognizes where her hands are. She had been cradling Veronica’s chin, holding her cheeks gently, but somehow her grip has migrated. Her thumbs rub circles at the back of Veronica’s neck, brushing against the soft, short hair there, and—

And if she were to squeeze—

Betty scrambles so far backwards she nearly falls off the bed, causing Veronica to whine in protest. “ _Betty._ ”

“Sorry! Sorry, I just—”

“Need a second? Yeah, me too,” Veronica laughs, chest heaving. “Guess we got a little carried away.”

“It’s not that. Or—or it is, but—”

“Betty. Hey.” Veronica leans in close, until their foreheads touch and their noses bump together. It’s remarkably unsexy, considering. “Calm down. I feel it too. Whatever it is you’re feeling, me too, okay? Same.”

Betty kind of doubts it, but okay.

* * *

(She stays the night.

They don’t do anything else—or at least, nothing wilder than spooning—and the next morning, when Betty asks Veronica if she slept well, the relieved surprise in Ronnie’s voice when she says _Yeah, actually,_ is unmistakable.

There are still dark circles under her eyes.

“Your mom said she’d treat us to pancakes at Pop’s,” Betty whispers, nosing at the side of Veronica’s neck. “Why don’t I go swing by and grab some for us, and you can sleep in a little more?”

She expects Veronica to put up a fuss. Instead, she just turns in Betty’s arms to kiss her in thanks, and snuggles back down into her covers.

“You’re the best person I know, Betty Cooper.”

Empirically speaking, Veronica doesn’t actually know that many good people, but still. It’s nice to hear.)

* * *

Betty doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

She’s all set to enter the student lounge, fall on top of whomever is spread out on the couch, and just stay there until the bell rings, when she hears Veronica:

“Oh, no way, girl. If Betty’s not talking, then neither am I.”

“But I’m _dying_ here,” Kevin protests. “What is the point of no longer being the only out kid at this school if I don’t get all of the delicious details about everything you do? We’re a _community_.”

Veronica laughs. “Sorry Kev, no can do. Alice Cooper has eyes and ears everywhere in this town, she’s like the lipstick gestapo. And besides, haven’t you ever just—had something so important, so special, that… that it felt like it belonged to only you? Something you didn’t want to share?”

“Oh, Ronnie, look at you—you’re blushing!”

“I absolutely am not.”

Betty leans against the wall until her forehead hits stuccoed brick, feeling suddenly warm. Before she can find it in her to move, the bell rings, and then she hears Kevin’s laughter.

“Uh oh. Looks like this smitten kitten heard you,” he teases.

“Shut up, Kevin,” she grumbles, only it’s hard to stay mad when Veronica’s gently wrestling her textbooks and binders out of her hands, carrying them for her as they walk to class.

(“Because unlike _some_ people, _I’m_ a gentleman,” Veronica says, glaring at Kevin in the least intimidating way possible.)

* * *

Just after three AM on a Wednesday night—or is it Thursday morning?—Betty’s woken by the buzz of her cell.

She swipes sleepily at her lock screen and pushes her phone against her ear, not even bothering to look at the name displayed. “Hey, Ron.”

The gravel in her voice must be obvious, because Veronica’s response is, “Oh, shit. Did I wake you?”

Betty clears her throat, trying to get rid of the evidence. “Nuh-uh.” She rolls over and shifts under her blankets, just tired enough that she lets herself enjoy the press of her hips against the mattress as she gets comfortable. “Are you… can’t sleep?”

“Bad dream.” Even through the phone, she can hear Veronica swallow. She tries not to picture what it looks like when Veronica does that, the tendons in her neck.

She doesn’t know what to say. “Ronnie…”

“It’s fine. I—I shouldn’t have called you, I can just—”

“Hey. Hey, shhh, stop it. You can always call me, okay? I _want_ you to call me.” It finally feels like her brain is waking up. “If it were me, you’d want me to call. Right?”

“I—you know I would, Betts.”

“Good, so cut it out.” In a perfect world, Betty would already be dressed and out the door by now, sneaking out to the Pembrooke to hold Veronica until she falls asleep. But this is real life, and they both have a test first period tomorrow morning, and Betty’s wanting, as usual, doesn’t make what she wants any more feasible. Her eyes cast about her bedroom, trying to find the right words.

Veronica beats her to it. “So… what are you wearing?”

“Ronnie!” Betty gasps, biting back laughter. “Oh my god, no. We are not doing that.”

“It would make me feel better,” Veronica insists, and Betty can practically hear the grin in her voice. But that’s—putting on a brave face, making her giggle. Classic Veronica avoidance tactics.

“Here, I have an idea. Get up and go open your window, okay?”

“Okay…” Betty waits, listening to the tinny sound of Veronica shuffling around her bedroom. “Alright, now what?”

“Close your eyes, feel the breeze.”

“Betty…”

“Come on. I know it’s cheesy, but would you just—try?”

“Fine. I’m closing my eyes. Consider this breeze felt.”

Betty counts to five in her head, hoping that Veronica is actually playing along with this. “Take a deep breath. Feel the wind on your face. Relax. There’s _plenty_ of air, Veronica. You’re okay.”

Against her ear, Betty hears Veronica inhale—loudly and deeply, through her nose—and hold it before letting it out again.

She squeezes her thighs together.

“Good. Again.”

(Every breath Veronica takes for the next twenty minutes is at Betty’s behest, until she finally drifts off. And if Betty’s hand was between her legs for part of that time, well. They’re dating now. She’s allowed, isn’t she?) 

* * *

Betty doesn’t know how this turned into their thing.

Somehow, one innocent phone call becomes two, becomes twice a week, becomes almost every night. Betty’s never so presumptuous as to call Veronica herself; she wants this to be Veronica’s choice, Veronica’s rules. Always.

But more often than not, now, after they’ve exchanged good night texts, before long her cell is buzzing with an incoming call.

“Tell me I can breathe,” Veronica pleads, and Betty _knows_ she’s looking for reassurance, but it _sounds_ like she’s asking for permission, and it’s—

God.

Veronica says she can’t sleep without it. Says, in that honest, tell-me-I-shouldn’t-tell-the-truth-I-dare-you way she has that Betty makes her feel safe, pulls her out of her own head, reminds her that she’s not alone and that no one’s going to forget about her and leave her struggling under the water. And that’s true. Betty’d never.

But it’s so different from how things are when they’re together, and Betty doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between the two Veronicas. Because out in the world, outside of the quiet darkness of their bedrooms, Veronica is as gregarious and assertive as she’s always been. An oasis from the stress and struggle of Jason, and Polly, and _Jason and Polly._

(The first time she calls Betty her girlfriend, a bit of milkshake goes down the wrong pipe. It’s such an ironic reversal of their usual—Veronica rubbing _Betty’s_ back, telling her to take deep breaths—that they can’t stop laughing long enough to kiss.)

It feels selfish, to ask for more than what they have.

So Betty doesn’t.

* * *

The sun set hours ago, and Betty’s still working on her next article at the Blue and Gold offices. Even Jughead’s left—dragged away by Archie after Archie’d finished football practice, because _Dad’s cooking tonight, man, it’s hysterical, you can’t miss this—_ and now Betty’s on her own, vision swimming a little as she tries to make sense of all the things in her head.

There’s just too much evidence, and too much hurt, and every time she looks up at their corkboard and sees _The Coopers_ pinned to it, it feels like everything is slipping through her fingertips faster than she can process it, let alone do anything about it.

“Knock, knock,” says a familiar voice, and Betty almost doesn’t believe her eyes when she sees Veronica leaning against the doorframe, wearing one of her trademark capes. She’s holding a full paper bag in one hand, a pile of blankets tucked under her other arm. “Can I come in, or is this a one woman pity party?”

“Ronnie, what are you doing here?” They’d been texting a little, earlier, but Betty’s been so distracted she’d kind of lost the thread of the conversation and it had petered out.

“Jughead texted me. He seemed very concerned that you were skipping dinner. So I thought I’d bring some over.”

“And the blankets?”

“If you’re gonna start practically living here, you might as well be comfortable, right? And I thought I’d keep you company.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like you don’t have any ulterior motives whatsoever.” Betty doesn’t know what she’s expecting when she opens the bag—a burger from Pop’s, maybe, or some kind of fancy takeout Veronica had flown in from New York just to make a point.

The last thing she’d have bet on is a homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwich, made on toasted cinnamon raisin bread. Her favorite.

“Ronnie…” she whispers, and—oh, crap, she can feel _tears_ prickling the corners of her eyes—but Veronica just presses a kiss to her forehead and wanders over to a distant corner of the room.

“Go ahead and finish whatever it is you’re working on. You won’t even know I’m here, I promise,” she says, spreading out her blankets.

It’s true and it’s not. Veronica lets her keep working—doesn’t make a peep—but Betty’s constantly aware of her presence. The taste of strawberry jam, the smell of nail polish in the air as Veronica passes the time by giving herself a manicure gives the Blue and Gold a homey, lived-in feeling it’s never had before.

It’s another forty-five minutes before Betty exhaustedly pushes her laptop away and goes to curl up with Ronnie in her little blanket nest.

“Thanks for being patient with me,” she mumbles, not just meaning tonight, as she rests her head on Veronica’s shoulder. Veronica starts playing with the fingers of Betty’s right hand, bending the knuckles, watching the delicate play of bones and muscles under the skin. Betty doesn’t think anyone’s ever paid as close attention to her before as Veronica does.

Veronica swallows. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. And it just never felt like the right time, or—or there’s been no privacy, or—”

Betty _knows_ the fear is irrational, knows she’s being utterly ridiculous, but “You’re not breaking up with me, are you?” spills out of her mouth before she can stop it.

Veronica’s eyes go wide with alarm. “What? No! Oh my god, babe, no. This is, like, the opposite of that.”

The first thing that comes to mind is _marriage proposal_ but not even Betty’s anxiety can make those words fall from her lips. “Okay. What is it?”

Veronica squirms. As always, it’s a shock, seeing her be awkward or uncomfortable about anything. They’re at school. Veronica should be confident, unflappable, untouchable. “I just… I don’t want to freak you out. And it’s not bad! Just… weird, maybe, and kind of embarrassing.”

“Veronica, you can tell me anything.”

“Okay. … okay,” Veronica says, like she’s psyching herself up. “So. We’ve been together for almost three months now.”

It’s been six weeks and five days since they pulled Veronica out of the water, six weeks and three days since Veronica kissed her at school, five weeks and one day since Betty spent the night after the football game, four—

“Betty?”

Veronica’s rounding up, is Betty’s point. Betty finds she doesn’t mind.

“Yeah, Ronnie, I’m listening.”

“And we’ve… talked, a bit, about my sordid hashtag party girl past, back in New York.”

“We have.”

Veronica drops her hand, shifts so they’re looking each other straight in the eye. “You know how serious I am about you, right? About—us? Because I know I make jokes and stuff, but I mean it, Betty. One look at you, and it was like— _thunk._ Cupid’s friggin’ arrow. I’m your girl.”

Betty’s pulse starts to race. “Veronica. Whatever it is, just ask me.”

Veronica takes a deep breath.

“There’s—there’s a lot of stuff I’ve never done. Stuff I never would do. But there are also things… things that… um. Stuff I did with other people, that I kind of miss.”

Well now Betty’s heart is absolutely _pounding._ She can feel her face getting hot. “Stuff like going past second base, you mean?”

Veronica laughs, but it’s a reedy, hollow version of her usual chuckle. “I mean, _yes,_ god yes, but that’s not what I—I mean. More than that.”

Betty licks her suddenly very dry lips. “Like what?”

“Like our late night phone calls?” Veronica mumbles sheepishly. “They don’t just calm me down, Betts. They—you telling me what to do, it—it really works for me.”

“Ronnie.”

“And I know that’s a massive overshare and I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t—I’m trying to not be that person anymore, to be less selfish, and—”

“Ronnie!”

“—believe me, the last thing I want to do is pressure you, or make this all about me. Because what you want matters to me. You matter to me, so much. So if you’re not ready, or obviously if you don’t want—”

“Veronica, _who said I wouldn’t want it?_ ”

Veronica finally pauses. “I’m not just talking about sex, here, B.”

“Then tell me what you mean.”

She phrases it like an order on purpose—a little experiment. She knows she doesn’t imagine the shudder that goes through Veronica at her tone.

“It’s called breathplay,” Veronica whispers, so softly Betty can barely hear her over the roaring in her own ears. “It’s when—”

“I know what breathplay is, Veronica,” Betty says. Her voice sounds far away, she thinks, like it’s somebody else talking.

The word, finally said aloud, falls heavy between them.

“I don’t want to mess up what we have,” Veronica admits quietly. “But you—do you have _any_ idea, what you do to me? I’ve been so messed up, ever since that field trip, and I thought I’d never want—that I wouldn’t be able to—but you’re just. You’re always there for me. I’ve never had that before, not ever, with a friend or a partner or a hookup or _anyone._ And you make me—you make me be not scared. I know this is sudden, I know I’m dropping a lot on you out of nowhere, but my mom told me that she’s going out of town next weekend, and I started thinking about—about all the possibilities, and I wanted…” She laughs again, helplessly. “Well. You. I wanted you.”

 Betty’s head is spinning. She doesn’t even realize Veronica’s finished her rant until she hears, in the tiniest voice—

“Say something. Please.”

“You want to…” Betty can’t say it out loud. “With me?”

“I want everything with you, Betty Cooper.” Her smile is tremulous, but real. “…Well. Everything and then some.”

The need to protest, the feeling that there’s no way the universe would just hand her everything she’s ever wanted on a silver platter, niggles at the back of Betty’s brain. She reaches for Veronica, running her thumb over the apple of her cheek. “What if it makes the nightmares worse? Or if I… if you get triggered, or…?”

“Reggie and Archie didn’t even know they were holding me down. There was nothing I could do to make them hear me, because they weren’t paying attention.” Veronica puts her hand on top of Betty’s where it’s cupping her face. “You _always_ hear me. You always pay attention.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Betty whispers, which is true. She’d wanted to say _I don’t want to hurt you,_ it had been on the tip of her tongue, but in her mind’s eye her hands are already at Ronnie’s throat and saying it that way had felt… less true.

“It’s not about hurting me. It’s about how I know that you never, ever would. Not really. Not…” Veronica swallows. Her eyes are so, so dark. “Not unless I wanted you to.”

At that, Betty’s clit _throbs._ Unable to stop herself, she leans in and steals a kiss, and then another, enjoying the feeling of Veronica pressing back.

“Next weekend,” she promises against Veronica’s lips. “When your mom’s away.”

Veronica moans.

They don’t talk much more, after that.

* * *

The next week becomes a kind of thrilling game of cat and mouse. This shared secret between them, the electricity of anticipation, heightens every interaction. Every moment at school is delicious torture, and every minute after school is dedicated to the kinds of internet searches Betty will only do on an incognito window on her phone, out of fear that somehow her mother will know.

But if they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this right, and that means doing her homework.

They choose to spend Friday night apart, because Veronica insists that the waiting makes it better.

On Saturday morning, as Betty’s tying her shoes, she texts Veronica _wear something comfortable._ On second thought, she adds, _something ACTUALLY comfortable, not “let me slip into something more comfortable ;)” comfortable. no negligee and pearls._

 _You’re no fun,_ Ronnie texts back. Before Betty can craft a reply, Veronica’s added a clarification of her own: _same to you, tho. I want MY betty, not the smoldering Temptress Of The Night act you gave chuck clayton._

Despite the fact that she’s wearing jeans and a sweater, Betty feels called out.

_Well, YOUR betty will be there in 15-20._

_:) I like the sound of that._

Betty does, too.

* * *

Veronica answers the door in a slightly loose black tee and yoga pants. _Good girl._

It’s hot, kind of, until she says “I’ve given Smithers the day off. So, we’re, y’know. Um. It’s just us.”

It’s weird.

They’ve made it weird.

Betty toes off her shoes in the front hallway, Veronica disappearing before Betty can say anything else. She pads after her, finding Veronica up in her bedroom, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her comforter. She’s so utterly dwarfed by her massive bed, Betty feels a tug in her chest at the sight of her.

She’s also clearly cleaned her room for the occasion, which Betty finds weirdly touching.

“I’m nervous,” Veronica admits as Betty closes the door behind her. Even though they have the house to themselves, it feels better this way. Safer.

Betty chuckles a little as she moves to join Veronica on the bed. “ _You’re_ nervous? Tell me about it. I’ve never even done this before.”

Veronica’s face drops comically into _panic_. “Oh, god, Betts—we don’t have to—I mean, if you’re still—”

“Hey,” Betty says firmly, reaching out and taking Veronica’s hands in hers. “Don’t. I want everything with you, Veronica Lodge. Everything and then some.”

Veronica’s eyes absolutely sparkle at that, like—like they’re in a commercial, or a Christmas movie. That feeling—the helpless, woozy realization of exactly how good-looking Veronica is—crests over Betty like a wave, just like it did the day they got together.

Before she even really clocks the fact that she’s leaning in, they’re kissing. It’s unhurried and slow, explorative.

In the back of her mind, she runs through the informal checklist she’d prepared after doing so much reading this week. She’s got prior consent now for the main event, and that’s good, but—“Hey. Any hard limits I need to know about, before we go any further?”

“Um, what?” Veronica asks, sounding a million miles away as she blinks her eyes open. The fact that she’s so spacy just after some kissing strokes Betty’s ego something fierce.

“Things you don’t like. You know. In bed.”

Veronica _blushes,_ which only makes Betty feel prouder. “I don’t… I dunno. No one’s ever asked me.”

“I’m asking now.”

“Just… warn me first if you’re going to try something? No weird bodily fluids, not that I think you would be into that anyway. And—oh. I guess… no dirty talk.”

Well that’s unhelpfully vague. “Like…?” Betty prompts.

“Like don’t…” Veronica looks down, playing with her fingers. “Don’t call me a slut.”

Betty’s heart _aches._ She still remembers every single one of those Instagram comments—she can’t imagine Ronnie’s forgotten them. She reaches out to tilt Veronica’s chin up, making her look her in the eye. “I’d never,” she promises.

She gets an uneven smile in response. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “What’s on your no list?”

“Oh. Uh, same, I guess. And—no hitting?”

“I can work with that,” Veronica laughs. “Are we done? Can we kiss more now?”

“Laugh all you want, Veronica, but consent is impor—mmph.”

Betty loves the way Veronica kisses. There’s just something about the way she moves her mouth, a dance she knows the choreography to that she’s kept secret from everyone else—a give-and-take, delicate and insistent all at once. While one hand cradles the back of Betty’s neck, the other plays with the end of her ponytail, threading her fingers through the slight curls at the tip.

It’s easy to get lost in it, which is exactly what Betty had in mind. To make Veronica feel good, safe and happy and cared for.

The t-shirt Veronica’s wearing is ridiculously soft. Betty finds herself bunching it in her fists, smoothing it down, running it between her fingers. Judging by the noises Veronica’s making, she’s enjoying the attention. She presses closer, and closer still, until—with a little grumble of frustration from the back of her throat—she crawls into Betty’s lap and settles there, legs wrapping around Betty’s waist.

_Holy shit._

The newfound pressure and heat bearing down on Betty’s pelvis absolutely snaps whatever thin thread of control she’d been maintaining. Her hands slide up under the hem of Veronica’s shirt, and she traces her way up Veronica’s spine with light scratches of her fingernails, making Veronica shiver. All too soon, her fingers reach the clasp of Veronica’s bra, and she frowns into the kiss.

“Can I—?”

“If you don’t, I will,” Veronica says, which is all the permission Betty needs. She unhooks the bra deftly, Veronica leaning back just long enough that she can tug the offending garment through her sleeves and toss it over her shoulder.

Of course, Betty has next to no access to Veronica’s suddenly-freed breasts at this angle, and that just won’t do. Wanting to rectify that situation immediately, she twists and eases Veronica onto her back against the pillows, pausing when she sees Veronica just _grinning_ up at her.

“What?” she asks, a little self-conscious. Maybe she’s being too forward, maybe her attempt at seduction is kind of pathetic, maybe—

“I’m just happy,” Veronica admits quietly, running a knuckle up and down Betty’s temple. “I love seeing this side of you.”

Betty’s throat goes dry, her tongue suddenly heavy in her mouth. It’s not an _I love you,_ not a real one, but it’s the closest they’ve said and she feels like—she feels—

She feels _invincible._

And she feels like Veronica deserves to be rewarded for making her feel that way.

Bracing herself on one elbow, her free hand is back up under Veronica’s shirt in a heartbeat, groping at Veronica for the first time. She tries to be gentle about it—she’s heard the way girls complain about how guys touch their chests, and she knows what she likes herself—but it’s a _challenge,_ keeping her head in the game when all she wants to do is get a solid handful and never let go. Veronica gasps into her mouth when she rolls her thumb over Veronica’s nipple, and if she likes that, well, _that’s nothing._

She slides down Veronica’s body and lowers her mouth to her other breast, sucking at it through the cotton of her shirt. Veronica’s hips buck up at the sensation, causing Betty to smirk. Veronica’s hands are at her shoulder blades now, grasping desperately when Betty darts out her tongue.

“More,” she begs, and Betty obliges.

“Things have been so hard on you lately,” Betty murmurs into Veronica’s clavicle, kissing her everywhere she can reach. “And you’ve been so brave, and you’ve been so strong.” Veronica mewls, writhing a little under Betty’s attentions. “You can let that go, Ronnie. I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you. You don’t have to be strong, okay? All you’ve got to do… is breathe…”

She lowers her mouth to Veronica’s pulse point and sucks, scraping gently with her teeth. The skin of Veronica’s neck is so ridiculously satin-soft, Betty can’t stop herself from biting down.

“Oh, god,” Veronica moans, burying her fingers in Betty’s hair. She pulls at the back of Betty’s head, trying to get her impossibly closer.

It’s not a question good girls are supposed to ask, but—“Can I leave marks?”

“ _Please._ ”

The thought of Veronica showing up to school, pearl necklace only drawing attention to her hickeys, hickeys _Betty_ gave her, is possibly the sexiest thing Betty’s ever experienced. Betty slips her knee between Veronica’s thighs, giving her something to rub against. Veronica doesn’t pass up the opportunity. (And Betty could use some relief herself, right now, but—this isn’t about her.)

“How do you feel?” she whispers against Veronica’s throat, enjoying the feeling of Ronnie spread out beneath her, body warm and pliant and giving.

Veronica cants her hips up in response. “Betty…”

Betty kisses under the hollow of her jaw. “Tell me.”

“Good, Betts, so good, I’m so good I promise…”

“What else?” Betty mumbles. She doesn’t mean to tease, but she’s… she needs to know.

Veronica _whines._ “I’m—”

“Turned on?”

The breathless, half-hysterical laugh that tears from Veronica’s throat is a thing of beauty. “Yes!”

“Relaxed?”

“ _Less and less, by the second,_ ” Veronica hisses, making Betty smile into the hickey she’s tracing back over.

“Safe?”

At that, the sizzling tension that had been running across Veronica’s nerves eases, suddenly, as she practically melts into the bed. She brings up a hand to cup Betty’s cheek, pulling her up to make eye contact.

“Betty,” she says, eyes sparkling, like Betty’s being silly. The dark brown of her irises threaten to crack Betty’s chest wide open. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.”

Betty inhales shakily at the rush of emotions coursing through her, she loves this girl, she _loves_ this girl—

Of its own volition, her hand drifts up to Ronnie’s bruise-mottled neck. “Even now?”

Veronica doesn’t so much as blink. “Even now.”

Betty grinds down hard on the jut of Veronica’s hip bone, making them both moan, and slides her hand back down to Veronica’s shoulder. Maybe Veronica says she’s ready, but Betty—Betty’s not. Not yet.

_(“I—I don’t think she’s breathing…”)_

She presses her lips to Veronica’s sweetly, their eyelashes fluttering together in butterfly kisses.

“Deep breath for me and hold it, okay? Just you; I’m not gonna touch you. Ten seconds. I’ll count.”

Veronica nods frantically, lungs hitching even at the suggestion. At her next shuddering inhale, Betty starts counting aloud, hands busy against Veronica’s body: _one._

She just about makes it to seven before Veronica lets out an indecent little squeak as Betty runs a thumb over her nipple. The breath she takes to make up for the lost air is audible.

“Ronnie, _focus,_ ” Betty orders, trying to be stern, but it’s hard to pull it off when she’s so dizzy for Veronica she can barely think.

“S-sorry,” Veronica manages to stutter out, the word half-lost in a breathless moan, and Betty has to hold back a string of curses at the sound of it. (Betty has never been this wet before in her life.)

Instead, Betty runs a hand through Veronica’s increasingly sweat-damp hair. “No, hey, it’s fine. We’ll work up to it. Can you give me five?”

“I—yeah.”

“Prove it,” Betty goads, and the count starts over. Betty cheats a little—drawing out her words the further in she gets, waiting much longer than a second between _four_ and _five,_ but the way Veronica clutches at her as she gulps down air is worth it. “See? Good. That’s my good girl.”

“Can I—I want—”

 _Name it,_ Betty thinks _. Anything._ Betty’d rope her the moon if she asked for it. “Yeah?”

“Wanna see you.”

Betty sits up on her haunches to give Veronica room to maneuver. Slowly—reverently—Veronica reaches for the hem of Betty’s sweater and pulls it up over her head. Betty watches the way Veronica’s eyes rake over her bare torso, her abs, her cleavage. Her pupils are blown wide with desire when they flick down to Betty’s still jean-clad legs.

“Not yet,” Betty says. “But we can take yours off, though?”

“Please,” Veronica whispers, already lifting her hips so Betty can slide the yoga pants down and toss them away. Beneath, she’s wearing ridiculous lacy panties that, if Betty knows Veronica, probably match the bra Ronnie discarded earlier. Betty would laugh, except the sight of Veronica’s bare thighs is so arresting she’d frame it and put it in the MoMA if she could.

“Christ,” she mumbles, running her hands up and down Veronica’s naked legs. Luxuriating in the feel of them, in the way Veronica spreads wide for her. God, she can _smell_ how aroused Veronica is.

Veronica wriggles impatiently beneath her. “Okay, yes, I’m hot, you’re hot, can we keep going now?”

Betty chuckles, easing herself back down until she’s straddling Veronica’s stomach. “Settle down, bossy. Or did you forget who’s supposed to be in charge today?”

Veronica swallows thickly, eyes getting impossibly darker. “Y-you are.”

“Good girl. Let’s try five again. Deep breath.”

They work their way up to eight seconds, ten, fifteen. Betty touches Veronica everywhere but where she wants it most, thrilling at the way she can bring Veronica teetering to the edge without going below the belt at all. Whenever she seems especially close, Betty gets up onto her knees, denying her the friction she needs. It’s not time—not yet.

Every time Veronica comes up for air, she’s giddier, more incoherent, more dazed. “Please,” she gasps after making it to seventeen seconds on nothing but her own self-control. “Please, babe, I need your hands.”

Betty’s feeling magnanimous. “Here?” she asks, cupping Veronica through her soaked underwear.

To her surprise, though, Veronica grabs her by the wrist and moves her hand up to Veronica’s neck, instead. “ _Here._ ”

Betty almost comes from that alone.

“Are you—”

“I’m sure,” Veronica says with finality.

Suddenly, it’s Betty’s breath that’s shaky. She reaches down and unbuttons her jeans, shimmying out of them as best as she can. “Okay,” she says, repositioning herself and then making a V with her hand, letting it rest on Veronica’s throat. Even that light pressure makes Veronica groan.

(There’s a still-darkening hickey at each of Veronica’s pulse points, under Betty’s thumb and ring fingers. She hadn’t actually intended to do that, but can’t exactly bring herself to regret it.)

“When we start, I’m going to press down on your arteries, here and here. It’s going to cut off the flow of oxygen-rich blood to your brain—”

“Babe, I don’t need the science lesson,” Veronica chuckles, but Betty talks over her, because this is important.

“—but I’m not going anywhere near your windpipe, okay? You’re going to get light-headed, and it’ll feel like there’s not enough air, but you’ll be breathing the whole time. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The look Veronica’s giving her is so vulnerable, so openly fond, Betty almost forgets the rest of her planned speech.

“Y-you might not feel like you can talk much, so I’m gonna need you to hold onto my shoulder. Yeah, like—no, press harder. Just like that. Good girl. Now you hold it there until you can’t anymore, okay? When you drop your hand, I stop. Red light. Got it?”

“Got it,” Veronica says, with enough gravity that Betty finds herself finally relaxing, because she’s taking this seriously, too. “I—I can touch you with my other hand, though, right?” Veronica asks. “Like… fun touching, not safety touching?”

The idea that Betty could say _no,_ that she could make a rule like that arbitrarily and Veronica would follow it, that she’s _asking,_ is a head rush. She smiles warmly. “Anywhere you like. Ready?”

“God, yes.”

“Deep breath for me.”

_Here we go._

In hindsight, Betty has no idea why she’s surprised when Veronica immediately reaches down with her free hand and slides her fingers under the waistband of Betty’s boyshorts, even as Betty starts squeezing at her neck.

“You’re so wet,” Veronica keens with the last of her air, apparently unable to help herself.

Betty would say something witty in reply, but her brain’s short-circuited at the feeling of Veronica’s fingers in her folds, brushing tentatively against her clit. She’s never—no one’s ever—it’s _so much_ , and Veronica’s hardly even done anything yet.

And god, she’s so beautiful—mouth falling open as she starts to pant, her heartbeat a rapid tattoo against Betty’s firm grip. Her hips roll restlessly against the air, seeking contact as Betty hovers on her knees above her. Betty’s not touching her, not yet, mesmerized by the way Veronica makes even this desperate, graceless writhing look somehow immaculate, elegant, planned.

“You can—inside—” Betty says (or, whatever, tries to say, sentences are hard right now), because even though she’d told Veronica _anywhere_ she knows Ronnie’d never without explicit permission. The finger that had been teasing at her entrance obediently stops teasing, and Betty whimpers as Veronica pumps into her, curling against her just so.

Needing more leverage, Betty eases back onto her shins to ride Veronica’s hand, moving slowly so as not to break safety contact. Veronica’s blunt fingernails are digging into Betty’s shoulder so hard she’s sure they’ll leave marks, but that’s good—that grip means _I’m okay,_ that grip means _green light,_ and if she’s being honest Betty doesn’t exactly mind the pain.

Finally in a position where she can use her non-dominant hand without toppling over, Betty reaches down and strips Veronica of her panties, pushing them down to her thighs. Veronica lets out a strangled cry as Betty _finally_ touches her for the first time with no barriers between them, hips snapping to meet Betty’s fingers eagerly.

Distracting as having Veronica inside her is, Betty’s universe has been reduced to what’s under her fingertips. Literally—on the one hand: Veronica, slick and swollen, thrusting up to meet her. On the other: Veronica, flushed and yielding, soft and fragile and trusting her, trusting her, trusting her.

Veronica’s straight up hyperventilating now, eyes half-open, glassy and slightly bloodshot as she and Betty rock together. Betty knows she’s getting close, and—well, Veronica’s been close for like half an hour now. Betty doesn’t think either of them can last much longer.

Sure enough, she can feel Veronica’s grip on her shoulder weakening, her fingertips looser and lighter by the second.

“Almost there,” she promises, feeling pretty breathless herself. “You’re doing good you’re so good. Can you—more?”

To her surprise, Veronica adds not one finger, but two, and the unexpected pinch, the _fullness_ of it, sends Betty over the edge. The way her orgasm crashes through her makes her lose focus, so absorbed in how fucking good she feels that she almost misses it when Veronica’s hand slips from her shoulder.

“Oh, _shit,_ Ronnie _—_ ” she curses, immediately setting her thumbnail against Veronica’s clit and _pressing_ while simultaneously lifting her other hand up off Veronica’s neck. Veronica makes an indescribable noise and all but bows off the bed as her spine arches, eyes rolling back in ecstasy so hard Betty can only see the whites.

They spasm and shake together, trembling, spent, until Betty’s so sensitive she has to disengage, practically collapsing at Veronica’s side.

For a minute, it’s all she can do to just stare at Veronica’s ceiling and breathe, listening as Veronica’s labored, shuddering wheezes even out into something approaching normal inhales and exhales. When she finds the energy, she turns her head, smiling when she sees Veronica: eyes closed, jaw lax and expression utterly blissed out.

“Veronica.”

…okay, less fun and cute if Veronica’s actually passed out. She runs a hand up Veronica’s arm.

“Veronica. Hey.”

“Mmmmn.”

“ _Veronicaaa_ ,” Betty singsongs gently, pushing herself up onto her elbow and reaching to brush Veronica’s hair back. “Come back to me, V. Where even are you right now?”

Veronica’s lips work the air for a second before she can force a word out, dreamy and distant, throat raspy from all its gone through today. “…Galaxies…”

Well, it’s… almost a cogent answer. “Seeing stars, sweetheart?” Betty asks with a chuckle. (And she had known this might happen. The hypoxia that results from asphyxiation can bring on vivid lucid semi-hallucinations. It’s just science. Nothing to do with her, really.) A little curious, she adds, “How do you feel?”

“Floaty…” Veronica slurs. Betty reaches over and pulls at Veronica’s shoulder, smiling when Veronica follows the wordless prompt and rolls over into Betty’s arms. Betty pets her hair, soothing her as she comes down, Veronica’s hips still rocking lazily as she rides out the aftershocks with little whimpers and satisfied sighs.

She can tell Veronica’s less out of it when she does quiet and still, hiding her face bashfully in the crook of Betty’s neck, huffing out an embarrassed laugh.

Betty finds herself laughing along. “What?”

“I just had the best fucking orgasm of my life, and you never even finished taking my clothes off.”

Despite all that they just did, Betty finds herself blushing at Veronica’s language. “I guess I’m just talented.”

“Try _perfect,_ ” Veronica corrects. The look she’s giving Betty—fucked out, half-lidded and adoring—is almost more than Betty can take. “Thank you. For taking such good care of me.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Betty counters, humming happily when Veronica tilts her head up to kiss the tip of her nose, and then her lips, briefly.

Affection thus doled out, Veronica settles back down, nuzzling into Betty’s neck again. “Just give me like two minutes to catch my breath and then it’ll be your turn, I swear.”

“What? I don’t need—I mean, I was right there with you when—” Even now, Betty cannot make her mouth form the words _I came when you did._ She swallows. “I’m good.”

Veronica goes rigid on top of her. “Betty Cooper, don’t you dare,” she says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “We are not leaving this bed today, and I am _so_ not done with you yet. You were so, so good to me. And now I’m gonna be good to you. Which means I get to touch you,” she starts kissing at Betty’s neck, “and taste you,” and lower, “as much as I want. And you’ve just got to—to lay there and take it, so there.” She frowns at Betty’s bra. “This is in my way.”

Betty shifts position to unhook it, Veronica following and impatiently pulling it off of her before all but burying her face in Betty’s chest. “I th-thought you needed two more minutes…” Betty stammers as Veronica starts mouthing at one of her nipples.

Veronica literally scoffs into Betty’s breast—a sensation which, embarrassingly, sends a _zing_ of sensation down Betty’s spine—and kicks off her underwear, apparently offended by this challenge to her prowess. For good measure, she sits up, at long last pulling her shirt up and over her head, baring herself completely and looking down at Betty with a wicked grin.

Now that there’s nothing but smooth, tan skin to look at, the dark bruises ringing Veronica’s neck stand out all the more. She’s absolutely glistening with sweat; Betty has the sudden absurd desire to lap it up off of her. “You want to wait two minutes?” Veronica asks, pausing to stretch, clearly enjoying the way Betty’s eyes track her breasts as she does. “That’s fine. We can wait two minutes.”

“No, I—I mean… I only meant I—” Betty babbles, but God, there’s a _reason_ she’d planned this so Ronnie kept her shirt on, she can’t _think,_ she—

“That’s what I thought,” Veronica says with a smirk.

It’s the last thing she says for a while, her mouth suddenly otherwise occupied.

**Author's Note:**

> ... and then Veronica goes down on her for like an hour and a half amen.
> 
> In case you needed a visual of Veronica's sex t-shirt: professorspork.tumblr.com/post/157081268397


End file.
